


The Meeting Of Thorin Oakenshield And Galadriel

by ComeChaos



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Het, Mild Smut, Rare Pairings, Rivendell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeChaos/pseuds/ComeChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin meets Galadriel in Rivendell, and is offered healing.</p><p>Mild smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meeting Of Thorin Oakenshield And Galadriel

**Author's Note:**

> I am having a hard time finishing my longer stories right now, so this is a little piece that I wrote while taking a break from them. 
> 
> I also made a picture, just because I like to play with digital images.  
> http://come-chaos.tumblr.com/post/49376084902/my-patience-and-my-skills-are-both-limited-but-i

Thorin followed the stone-paved pathway slowly through the night. 

When Gandalf had followed Elrond off the cliff, Thorin had asked Balin to bring Bilbo back to their camp. He had then stood alone for a while, unfolding his grandfather's map once more, pondering the secrets revealed in the moonlight.

He was sure of his direction, as he could glimpse the elven halls in the distance beyond the rich masses of bending trees, but ever the path seemed to curve and take him on strange detours, quite possibly laughing at the dwarf treading it. It was an elven path, and he did not trust it.

Thorin was tired and wounded. He walked straight, moved without hindrance, but he felt the damage inside him. He knew that he would not last like this. Step by step, the continuing of the journey would break him. Yet he refused to show weakness. The weak – not the hurt – are the first to fall. 

The sudden cry of some unknown bird made his breath shallow, and he was acutely aware that he did not carry his sword.

”Thorin.”

He stiffened, and the one thing that stayed his hand from going to the knife hidden beneath his tunic was the unmistakable femaleness of the voice – deep, warm and musical.  
”Long have I sought you in my thought. Yet ever your heart evades me, son of Thrain.”  
He turned and looked about him, his breath caught in his chest. At last he saw her, standing between two drooping trees on a high landing bathing in moonlight. A tall lady, the tallest he had ever seen, with golden strands of hair spilling like rivers over her chest. The hem of her long, white gown swept soundlessly down the wide stairs as she stepped closer.  
”I am Galadriel,” she said.  
Her name sounded like the soft shattering of thin glass to Thorin's ears.  
”You know my name,” he stated, his own voice suddenly dull and hoarse to his ears.  
The woman merely smiled, lowering her head a little. She lifted her hand, and it took Thorin a moment to realise that she was beckoning him to her. 

Thorin hesitated, old dwarven tales of elven sorceresses at once vivid in his mind. Then he found that his feet was leading him forward, off the path he had been following, and he wondered lightly if he was already enchanted. 

The lady fell to her knees, resting her pale hands in her lap. As Thorin came closer, treading up the first few stairs, he saw that her eyes were a deep blue colour beneath the silver crown on her brow. Thorin had seen the ocean twice. It had been the same colour, and it had been old and terrifying. He shuddered and raised his gaze, trying to inspect the delicate metalwork instead.

Galadriel kept her eyes locked on his.  
”Will you hear me?”  
It sounded to Thorin like an honest question, and so he gave her his honest answer.  
”I do not give my friendship to elves.”  
He met her eyes again, helplessly drawn to their depths.  
”And I have no hope to change your heart, child of the unyielding stone. Yet I come to offer you my help.”  
She turned her palms upward with the softest of motions as she spoke. He wondered again how grave the danger was that had come upon him.  
”Nor will I hear their advices, my lady.”  
”It is not advice that I speak of, Thorin. You are wounded.”  
He breathed in sharply through his nose, shifting a little. This changed the matter. If she threatened him, he might as well know the full extent of her threat.

”Speak.”

”I offer you the healing of my people. A healing of body and soul through the gift of pleasure.”  
In his thought, he backed away from her – only to find that his body betrayed him.  
”I know that your reason declines, Thorin. Yet your heart knows what the body needs. Know this –”  
She raised one hand and placed it closed in front of her, as a token of a vow.  
”One word from your lips, and I will withdraw. Either way, this is a secret that will stay between us.”  
Thorin looked at her in silence. Then he nodded, very slowly.

Galadriel smiled again, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. Thorin swallowed as he approached to stand on the step below hers. The lady rose on her knees, so that they were now the same height. As she placed her hands on his belt buckle, her eyes averted downward, and relief washed over Thorin as he was freed from their piercing gaze. He closed his eyes and felt her unclasp his belt, heard the soothing clink of metal as it was taken off and lowered to the ground. Her movements were slow – giving him time to stay her hands, he thought.

He opened his eyes when she parted his tunic and tucked his shirt up under his body armour. She began to undo the exposed lacing of his breeches, and still he did not ask her to stop. Instead, he felt his body responding to the promise of her hands – a heat unfurled inside him and began to burn with ever brighter intensity, spreading through his limbs and awakening them.

Galadriel carefully pushed his breeches down a little. With an equally gentle motion, she reached her slender hand inside them and pulled out his member. It was soft but already heavy. Thorin's eyes fell shut again, and his breathing quickened. The lady's smooth palm slid down his shaft, adjusting its pressure as he grew in her hand. In the moonlight, Galadriel had looked almost transparent, but Thorin now found that her touch was warm and firm. She stroke him slowly to full hardness, and the rustle of his breaths was swallowed by the roaring of the waterfalls around them.

Then, placing her other hand on his hip, Galadriel turned him around, bringing his back to her chest. Thorin found himself leaning against her, for a moment cautiously aware of his own weight, but his wariness melted away when the lady did not move behind him. He relaxed, and as she began to stroke him again, he tilted his head backward to rest it on her shoulder. A strand of her golden hair tickled his face, and he thought of the kind of jewels that could be made to contain the light of such hair, enhancing it and reflecting it a thousand times.

The slender hand on Thorin's member twirled and changed its pace. Inside him, the pleasure grew close to unbearable. Galadriel filled his head with the scent of a forest after rain, drowning out the smell of sweat and dust that accompanied his own body. He shivered as she brought her lips to his ear, touching the curve of it so lightly that he wondered if he was only imagining it. Then she began to whisper, forming words unknown to him in a language he was sure that he had never heard before.

He could hear his own blood rushing through his veins, the escalating throb mingling with her voice until they seemed to coalesce into a single sound.

_”Thorin.”_

He heard her voice inside his head, and he answered her with a moan as he spilled over the paving beneath him, almost doubling over as the force of his release ripped through his body. She held him steady while he sobbed from the pleasure, until he could regain his balance.

When he straightened again, she withdrew her arms and sank back on her knees. He pulled his breeches up with trembling hands, carefully adjusting his sensitive member, and retied the laces. As he bent down to pick up his belt, Galadriel rose to her feet. He fastened the buckle and looked up at her, self-consciously ordering the layers of his clothing.

”My lady.”  
His voice was stolen, the words carried only by a hoarse whisper. Galadriel looked at him, eyes deep as oceans.  
”I must go now,” she said slowly. ”I shall meet with my Council, and I fear …”  
Her voice trailed off as her eyes turned from him to gaze far into the distance beyond the valley. Then she looked back at him and smiled, and there was a sadness in her smile that had not been there before. In that moment, Thorin thought that he had never in his life laid his eyes upon anything fairer.  
”Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield,” she said through her smile. ”We will never meet again.”

Then Thorin placed his hand over his heart, and he bowed deeply before the elf lady. 

When he looked up again, the step in front of him was empty.


End file.
